Like Any Good Husband
by Zachary Robert Long (981 words, estimated reading time: 5 minutes)

Exhibit A: Letter from envelope addressed “Stephanie”

I’m sorry, Angel.

I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through as you read this. You were always good to me and the time that we shared together means the world to me.

There is money in the shoe-box in the closest. You know which one. It should be enough to see to all the expenses and then some.

You are going to hear a lot of things about me in the media. Some of it will be true. Don’t lose sight of the man you knew. Please. When the reporters come, tell them the truth. Tell them who I was, the way I held you, the values I taught our children.

Do you remember how we first met? Me so drunk I could hardly stand, vomiting on your shoes? You were, what, 16? It’s funny how life does that. One minute you’re soaking a stranger in vomit, the next you’re in an illegal fling that turns into a full-blown love story. Still, I’m sorry about the shoes. Buy yourself a new pair, there should be more than enough money.

I’ve left a second letter. It’s in the drawer.

Give it to the police when they come.

I love you,
Robert.

 

Exhibit B: Letter from envelope addressed “Police”

Last week I received a call. Nothing special about it. I’ve received close to two-hundred of them, I would guess. It told me to go to [Address Redacted] and that once I got there I would know what to do.

It wasn’t wrong.

I entered the motel room and found her lying against the bed. The floor around her and part of the blanket were awash with blood. Fragments of bone scattered across the carpet. I couldn’t tell her who she was. Her face had been destroyed beyond recognition.

I went to work.

First I set out a tarp and placed the body on it. Then I removed each tooth using a pair of pliers. Next I used a saw to remove each limb before cutting them in half in order to make transportation and disposal easier. I set to cleaning the blood and collecting the bone fragments after the remains had been wrapped in separate packages. By the time I was done with the room it looked better than any of the staff could have done.

The remains are scattered throughout the city: several in the harbor, the majority placed in dumpsters – no two within a mile radius.

Like I said, I’ve been doing this for years.

And in all that time, I’ve never so much as had a regret. Like any good husband, I put my work out of mind when I crossed the threshold of the home I made.

But this one was different.

That night I started to dream. This in and of itself is an oddity. Stephanie keeps a dream journal in which she writes every morning. She always asks me about mine, but I never dream.

But I did that night.

I was standing in the center of the motel room. It was still covered in blood. But instead of the body lying where it had been, she was standing there with her back turned to me. I approached her to offer help. But she collapsed into a pile of dust as I laid my hand on her shoulder. I woke covered in sweat and, failing to fall back to sleep, busied myself around the house until morning.

The next night I dreamt again. The room was the same, blood and body. When I laid my hand on her shoulder her head twisted around so that even while she was turned away from me the wreckage of her face was inescapable. I tried to step away from the abomination but my hand was stuck on her porcelain skin like a fly in a glue trap. Her mouth – or where her mouth should have been – gaped toothless at me in a parody of a smile. A shrill laugh escaped as her head tumbled off her neck and came to rest between my feet.

Again I woke in sweat.

An acquaintance of mine supplied me with enough cocaine that sleep could be avoided for a few days, but eventually the body can’t take the stress and collapses into itself. Back into sleep. Back into that goddamn dream.

In a colorless room, a couple were making love. I don’t recognize either of them. There’s less sound than a Rudolph Valentino film. The man climaxes, though clearly not the woman. I could see their mouths moving, the level of animation rising from causal to frantic. He’s standing and pulling up his pants when she wraps her arms around his leg and tries to reach into his pocket. The back of his hand flashes across her face and the first flash of color paints the floor red.

He leaves when she stops moving.

And I’m still standing there when the faceless body begins to move. Lifts herself up without bending her knees, floats three inches off the ground, and comes to a stop directly in front of me. I try to ask her if she’s okay. A stupid fucking question. But when I open my mouth air bubbles come out and I feel like I’m drowning. I struggle for air and in the last seconds before I drown I see her face change into an amalgamation of my wife and daughter. Then she pries my mouth open and enters through the gaping tunnel.

I woke up screaming on the couch where I had passed out. I went into the garage to cut another line of coke I had hidden away.

Where I noticed my shoes were wet.

If I’m crazy, then this was to be the outcome anyway.

If I’m not…

Well, these will help you more than they did me.

Exhibit C: Envelop containing thirty-two teeth